


Sixteen

by theskywasblue



Series: Ordinary Crush [2]
Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-05
Updated: 2011-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being sixteen sucks...sometimes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sixteen

The worst part about being sixteen was that everything that was supposed to be good, sucked; and everything that was supposed to suck, sucked more; and Kougaiji hated every minute of it.

When he took the time to think about it logically, living in Arbour Grove shouldn’t have sucked any more than living in Woodland Heights or Westpoint Landing or any of the other suburbs in any of the other cities where Kougaiji hadn’t had any friends or anything to do to keep himself occupied, but it _did_.

Five cities in six years. Three since he had started high school. He had never even started _and_ finished a school year at the same school since Grade Eight. Kougaiji was sure his senior yearbook entry would read “Kougaiji – who the hell is this kid anyway?”

He couldn’t complain to his father though, of course. Gyumaoh wouldn’t stand for it, so he tried to be happy with his new bedroom – bigger at least, than the last, and not painted hideous forest green – tried to seem happy spending time with Lirin, even though he wished desperately that he could see the move with the same rose-coloured glasses as the seven-year-old – like everything was an adventure.

If that was adventure, Kougaiji wanted a life with a little less of it. The closest he got to any kind of fun were Saturday nights, when there was a pickup street-hockey game on the street outside his house – plastic hockey sticks and a tennis ball, portable, steel-frame nets – orchestrated by the two brothers from across the street, joined by the soft-spoken brunette and his twin sister from the end of the block, the short, totally hyper-active kid from two-houses down, the tall, shy girl who hid her ample chest under over-sized T-shirts and lived down by the park, and the surly blonde with the foul mouth who lived with his father in the house with the Zen rock garden out front.

Kougaiji had a perfect view of the action from his bedroom window. It would start shortly after supper, and last until the streetlights came on and the ball was too hard to keep track of in the low light; and most nights Kougaiji watched every minute of it.

“Pass the ball, Sanzo! Pass it, pass it, pass it! I’m open!”

“Cram it, you loudmouth!” Sanzo – the blonde – knocked the ball back and forth with his stick effortlessly, looking to pass, but it wouldn’t be to Goku, unable to hold his tongue and backed almost right onto the sidewalk by the younger of the girls – Kanan with her long braid and bright sundress. Gojyo – the younger of the brothers from across the street, was closing in behind Sanzo, stick poised to slide between Sanzo’s parted feet and snatch the ball, just as Sanzo flicked the ball away to Yaone, who put it easily into the unoccupied goal.

They often played two-on-two with goalies, but the game seemed more exciting when they played three on three and left the goals empty – there was more electricity to it, more urgency in the way they moved; and they seemed to have more fun. In as far as Kougaiji could judge with his nose pressed up against the window screen anyway.

“Dammit, I was so close!” Gojyo howled. “I almost had it!”

“In your dreams,” Sanzo countered, knocking his stick against Gojyo’s kneecap so that the younger boy jumped back.

“It’s your turn to sub out, Gojyo,” Hakkai said, nudging his friend in the shoulder before a fight could break out. Gojyo slunk reluctantly to the nearby lawn, handing his stick to his older brother, and Kougaiji slid in closer to the window, wanting a better look.

Dokugakuji was tall – maybe the tallest person Kougaiji had ever seen, although since Kougaiji himself was rather short, his perception was probably skewed slightly – dark-haired and lanky, but not clumsy at all as far as Kougaiji had ever seen; he had _the brightest smile_ , wide and invulnerable, and it was possible that Kougaiji had a bit of a crush on him that he had more or less come to terms with, since nothing was going to come of it anyway.

While Kougaiji was distracted watching Dokugakuji, something happened to send the ball ricocheting – probably a strike from Goku, who tended to hit with all his strength but no eye for precision – right up onto Kougaiji’s front lawn, almost directly below his window. As Dokugakuji jogged over to retrieve it, he happened to look up, and his eyes met Kougaiji’s like they were opposite poles of a magnet. Kougaiji ducked away from the window; horrified at being caught watching – he had already embarrassed himself irreparably falling off the porch swing in full view of Dokugakuji and his brother a few days earlier – and then the doorbell rang.

Kougaiji debated not answering it – it wouldn’t get answered at all then, since he was the only one home – but that seemed entirely too much like cowardice; and what if it wasn’t Dokugakuji at all, but one of the neighbours come to report a gas leak or a child looking for a missing pet or...

It was Dokugakuji, of course; all bright smiles and the easy offering of his hand as he said, “Hi. I’m Dokugakuji, you might remember me. I live across the street.”

“Y-yes,” Kougaiji nodded, resisting the nervous urge to clear his throat as he took the offered hand, hoping his palms weren’t sweating. “Kougaiji.”

Dokugakuji glanced back over his shoulder to where the game had come to a stop, all the players watching expectantly, “You wanna play?”

“I – uh...don’t have a stick.”

“It’s okay,” Dokugakuji stepped back, and Kougaiji found himself toeing on his shoes and following almost against his conscious will, shutting the door. “We’ve got extra. Gojyo – go get another stick.”

“You go get another stick,” Gojyo countered, before relenting to the unspoken laws of sibling-ship with a barely repressed grumble.

Kougaiji hit the edge of the sidewalk and stopped, feeling sweat break out on the back of his neck under the scrutiny of so many unfamiliar faces.

“Guys,” Dokugakuji’s hand pressed between his shoulder blades, urging him to keep moving forward, “this is Kou.”

Kougaiji almost corrected him – after all, they couldn’t possibly know each other well enough to be using nicknames already – but at the last moment, he held off, because it felt like acceptance, and he liked that.

He turned to Dokugakuji and smiled, “Whose team am I on?”

-End-


End file.
